


Love Your Saints

by NightmareWolf



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Depressing, Existentialism, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, Very personal, i recommend you dont read if you have depression or suicidal thoughts, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:00:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22276012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightmareWolf/pseuds/NightmareWolf
Summary: L was dead. Light Yagami was dead. Matsuda wishes it were him instead.
Relationships: L/Matsuda Touta, Matsuda Touta/Yagami Light
Kudos: 42





	Love Your Saints

**Author's Note:**

> this may be a bit ooc, it's a very personal vent fic. my beloved pet died recently and i've been dealing with bad depression/suicidal thoughts/existentialism again, so i thought this was be a good way to write those things out since i relate to matsuda and all *shrug*

Grief was a funny thing—and Matsuda means that in the least twisted way possible.

He had never really _believed_ in the five stages of grief. These supposed chain of emotions were suppose to succeed one another, until you finally reach acceptance. But Matsuda didn't believe in that. No offense to the man—or woman—who came up with the idea, it just never was a part of his process. "Acceptance" implies moving forward; forgetting. To accept is to acknowledge and make peace with, right? But death was never that cut-and-dry. Nobody truly "accepts" one's death. You may forget and move on, but you'll never truly forget the pain. For some, it plagues their whole life. For other's, it becomes a dull ache in the background. For Matsuda...for Matsuda...

He didn't really know.

Another thing about the five stages he didn't personally fall into is the, well, _five_ stages. He always seemed to jump forward to depression. No denial, no bargaining (unless it's his own life at stake, of course), just depression. He thinks he first truly felt this when Ryuzaki—L—died.

He loved Ryuzaki. He really did. He doesn't know how much he loved him, or in what way, but he knows he did. And, oddly, his death never really hit him that hard. Not at first, at least. He was more scared for himself—the idea that Kira would kill them next—and focused on making Light feel welcomed as the new L. But as time passed by, he realized slowly how much Ryuzaki's departure hurt. They say you never truly appreciate something until it's gone, right? Until you've lost it forever? But what about _knowing_ somebody won't be there one day? That you only have so much time with them? And thus, feeling even more guilty when the day finally comes, because you were _aware_ this was going to happen, and yet—and yet...you didn't make the most of it.

Maybe he could've had better things to do on Saturday instead of taking the day off. He could've spent time with Ryuzaki. Maybe he should've brought in those pastries he baked on Wednesday, but decided not to, fearing his co-workers would hate them.

Maybe it was this weird coping mechanism—feeling like he had failed L by letting him die, by not dying instead. After all, he was painfully useless to the investigation, he knew this—but he began to idolize Light more and more. He already lived vicariously through Light—a loving father, a family who was proud of him, a smart, young, bright, and rational individual. He was everything Matsuda ever wanted. He was the boy Matsuda wanted to be, but never was. And now he was L—he was Ryuzaki—and this was his second chance. It was his chance to show his love and dedication, and it was his chance to make things count. Because he, nor Light, will be around forever.

How ironic that he very well may be the reason Light is gone today.

Everytime Matsuda thinks about it—that day, at the warehouse—his body grows cold. He recalls so many details in perfect clarity, yet they somehow remain foggy and obscured. In his head, the sound of his own shoes tapping against the cement echoed. _A policeman with an illegal weapon_ —the phrase popped into his mind for a second. _He was a policeman with an illegal weapon._

And he shot Light. Over, and over, and over, and over again. He shot Light until he hit the floor. He aimed his gun for his head. He shot.

He missed.

He had trusted Light. He loved Light. He sacrificed his mind and his body and his life for Light. And in return, Light tells them he's Kira. _He_ was responsible for the chief's death. _He_ was responsible for Ryuzaki's death. _He_ was the one who dragged the world through hell for five years and dragged Matsuda along with it.

And Light didn't care. Not about Ryuzaki, or his dad, or any of the lives he took. He just called him an idiot— _Matsuda, you idiot_ —called him a bastard for shooting him. He said—he said Matsuda was the only one who understood him. He was the only one who understood Kira wasn't evil. Kira was justice. Kira was _needed_.

And he was so tempted for a moment. He wanted to fix his mistakes. He wanted to love Light the way he loved L. He wanted to prove his worth; he wanted to be right for once. But then he thought of L. Ryuzaki, the man who risked his life to expose Light and ultimately died for it. He was right. He was right. And Matsuda never believed him. He believed Light over L. Because Light was righteous. Light was a good kid, with a good family, with good morals. Light was who Matsuda wanted to be—who Matsuda saw his ideal version of himself in—and Matsuda knew he himself would never kill others, so why would Light? Light wouldn't; he would never. He trusted Light with all his heart.

He was wrong.

Matsuda, you idiot.

To see Light writhing, to see him die—it hurt Matsuda. It hurt him so fucking much. It was like watching your son die in front of you, or yourself. The blood—the blood oozing everywhere and the hard panting from Light, and all of his screams and cries. Ryuk's red, glassy eyes and the overwhelming smell of blood—copper—and then watching Light cry, scream, and beg like a child before a heart attack finally killed him. Matsuda remembered it all so vividly. It kept him up at night. It gave him nightmares. It made him weep. Thinking about all the sounds and smells and sights—everything about it twisted his guts with discomfort and guilt and nausea to the point where he wanted to vomit. Everytime he thought about it, he didn't want to live. He didn't want to move, or eat, or drink, or take care of himself in any capacity.

 _Matsuda, you idiot_. He was sure L was chastising him from heaven—or whatever afterlife exists. He was sure Soichiro would be disappointed. He was sure Light would be haunting him if he wasn't already. _Matsuda, you idiot._

Some days, he tells himself to get over it. Humans are such fragile creatures, anyway. We're just another species on this planet; nothing more, nothing less. Humans might as well not have a conscious or a soul—sometimes it felt Matsuda was the only one who had feelings or a mind. Everybody else was just programmed to talk the way they did. Therefore, there was no need to feel grief over another human. There was no need to feel sorry for somebody who couldn't feel. There was no point in being sad over an insignificant, fragile human life. Not when everything ends eventually, right? Days on end, a cheery attitude became harder to feign the more he viewed those around him—Aizawa, Mogi, Near—as soulless beings. As people, not persons. The feeling eventually would go away. It always did. And then he would be sad again.

Because humans lives _are_ insignificant, but not to other humans. Maybe L was above that—Matsuda understood that now—but he was not. Matsuda was weak. Weak enough to consider ending his life over such a stupid, frivolously series of events. Frivolous in the eyes of God; the universe. But he kept going, because he was weak. They say suicide is a coward's way out, but suicide takes more strength than Matsuda would ever have.

And so, at night, he lied awake as always, drinking alcohol but never getting drunk. He wished he had a God to pray upon, but the only God he had in his life was Kira, and that God betrayed him—that God was never his friend, but tricked him into thinking it. And he fell for it, and all of its dazzling sins.

There is no such thing as acceptance to death. Because we never truly forget about it. The only way we get over it is to convince ourselves that their death was pointless. They were pointless. Or, we pray upon some God to achieve peace of mind, because we aren't strong enough to handle it ourselves. Life, living; death, dying.

Grief was a funny thing.


End file.
